1. Going Down

Monday 6th June 2022

I stood in the dock, looking from the judge to all the other officials in their special places, wearing their white wigs. Most were slightly to the front and below my position, but the most important one was in the big fancy chair overlooking everything. He’d listened intently to the prosecution and to the woman who’d been appointed to be my defence counsel, and then he glanced at me before nodding to himself and looking at the laptop on the large desk in front of him.

The seconds passed slowly as I waited to hear his verdict. Over the previous few weeks, while I’d waited for my trial date, I’d had good days and bad days. Sometimes I was worried sick, thinking how awful it would be if I were given a custodial sentence. On my good days, I recalled a conversation with my defence counsel and what she’d said to reassure me.

“Try not to worry, Ryan. You’re a student in his early twenties who’s just graduated, and this is your first offence.”

“But, I haven’t done anything,” I’d said.

“Unfortunately, there was nobody else in the car when you were arrested, so we have to handle the situation with that in mind.”

The conversation haunted me constantly. Since then, I’d tried not to worry, but it didn’t fill me with confidence when she suggested a day later that I ought to plead guilty. I had to trust her judgment and go with her advice, of course, because she was the person defending me in court, and this was her place of work. Her job was to convince a judge or a jury of her client’s innocence.

I stared straight ahead at the judge, trying to send a telepathic plea for mercy.

He looked at me again, glanced at his laptop, and then nodded before speaking to me.

“Ryan Grant, I believe that you committed the crimes for which you have been charged and are standing before me. From the evidence and the statements I’ve heard, I’m convinced that you thought if you were caught and prosecuted, you’d be given a derisory punishment.” He paused, but held my gaze. “You probably mistakenly thought that because it was a first offence, you’d avoid a custodial sentence. I’m not convinced that you’d benefit from leniency, and for that reason, I sentence you to three months detention at His Majesty’s Pleasure.”

I felt my mouth go dry, and although my lips parted and closed, no sound came out.

The judge turned to the two men who’d escorted me to the courtroom. “Take him down.”

When I felt the escort’s grip on my arm, my anxiety increased dramatically, and I looked from him to the judge and back again in disbelief.

“Come on, son,” the prison escort said in a firm, but not unfriendly tone. He’d obviously dealt with someone like me before and recognised my shocked condition.

We went downstairs, and I was returned to one of the holding cells. As I sat on the hard bed block with the thin, inadequate mattress, it struck me that this could be luxury compared to where I might be sent. I had no idea about the passage of time, but it felt like I’d sat in the cell forever before the solid steel door was unlocked and swung open. My defence counsel stepped inside.

She said, “I’m sorry, Ryan, I was assured that the judge would be lenient, but I’ve just found out that he and the victim of the robbery are friends. That’s the sort of thing we can only find out by accident.”

“Three months imprisonment,” I murmured. “How am I going to survive?”

“Did you pack a small bag with toiletries and a few essentials?”

“I couldn’t face doing it, so Sarah, my girlfriend, packed a bag for me this morning. Now, I hope she’s packed pyjamas and more than one change of underwear for me. The bag was taken from me when I came in this morning, so I haven’t even looked at the contents.”

“I’m sure Sarah will have packed what would be appropriate, just in case this happened.”

“When will I have access to my bag?”

“They’ll give it to you when you arrive at the prison, and I’ve no idea where that might be.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve got her number in my notes, so as soon as I know where you’ve been taken, I’ll let her know.”

“Thank you.”

“I have to go, I’m afraid, I have another case to attend.” She paused at the door. “All I can suggest is that you try to get along with your cellmate and try to deal with the situation.”

When she left, the door was closed again, and I sat for a long time thinking about her suggestion. The next time the door opened, it seemed like I’d been sitting alone for hours. It was a prison officer, and he nodded to me when he stepped into the cell.

“It’s time to go, and you’ll be cuffed to me until we reach the van.”

When I stood, he clipped the handcuffs to me and his own wrist, and we set off along the plain green corridor to a metal gate, and then down two flights of stairs to come out in the basement parking area. He released himself from the handcuffs and fastened the second one to me before I was led into the big white van with the blacked-out windows. I was locked in one of the individual cubicles, and I heard others being locked up in the other cubicles. It wasn’t long before we set off, and I was able to see when we arrived at the exit to the road on ground level.

A bunch of reporters and photographers were running alongside the van, shouting things and holding camera lenses up against the blackened windows, hoping to get a picture of someone. I was certain they weren’t interested in me, so there had to be someone in the van who’d committed a crime worth writing about.

Once again, while on the journey, I had no idea how much time was passing, but from what I could make out, we’d left Glasgow and were on a motorway. I didn’t think it would be necessary to use a motorway to reach one of the city’s prisons. Sometime later, we left the motorway, and as we travelled through a built-up area, I saw a castle high on a hill.

“Surely, we’re not in Edinburgh?” I murmured. “Sarah wouldn’t be able to visit me often.”

A prisoner in another cubicle shouted, “Edinburgh.” Two or three others cheered.

I wondered why someone going to jail would have a preference for one over another.

When the van stopped, the cubicles were unlocked, and the five of us were led to a large room and told to wait. We were called forward individually.

In a much smaller room were two men in prison officer uniforms, and one wore plastic gloves.

“Name?” the taller man said.

“Ryan Anderson,” I said.

“Date of Birth?”

“Fourth September, Nineteen-Ninety-One.”

“Strip.”

I began undressing and glanced back to see the shorter man emptying my small overnight bag onto a counter. I stopped when I was in my boxer shorts and socks.

“Everything off,” the tall man said.

I took off my shorts and socks and glanced back to see the other man lifting my belongings one by one and repacking them into a large, clear plastic bag. He paused and lifted a short black nightie with a lace trim and held it up.”

I stared, wide-eyed. “What—” I panted. “My girlfriend packed my bag—”

“Shut up and face your front,” the tall man said, smiling.

The other man said, “I think you might enjoy the next part of his processing, Ryan.”

I glanced back to see him holding up two pairs of panties, and my heart sank. What the hell had Sarah done to me, packing my bag with her lingerie?

The short man said, “Move your feet apart, and bend over.”

I looked at the other man, and he nodded.

The man behind me, who’d been dealing with my bag said, “Have you concealed anything on your person?”

“On my person … no.” I felt a cold gel between my buttocks and then something penetrating my bum hole and twisting around. A cavity search? Fortunately, it only lasted a few seconds.

The tall man said,  “No tattoos or piercings?”

“Only my ears are pierced, and I have no tattoos.”

The short man grinned when he handed me the big transparent bag. “Your small bag will go into storage with a label attached. Get dressed, and go next door.” He pointed to a door to my left, so I quickly dressed and took the transparent bag as I went through to the next room.

A man in a white overall and a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform were waiting. I was weighed, my height was measured, and I was asked questions about my health. The doctor noted that I didn’t have a drug habit, I didn’t smoke, only drank alcohol occasionally, and didn’t have any special dietary requirements.

He said, “Have you ever been treated for mental health issues?”

“No.”

“Is this your first time in prison?”

“Yes.”

“You would normally spend your first night in the sick bay before going on to the induction wing, but due to a few admin problems, you’ll be taken straight to a cell today.”

“Why would I normally spend the first night in the sick bay?”

The nurse said, “Most people find their first night in prison traumatic, and it’s on the first night that we have the most suicide attempts.”

I looked from one to the other. “What about the induction wing?”

The doctor said, “A prisoner started a fire in there yesterday, so it’s temporarily out of bounds.”

The nurse said, “Grab your belongings and come through here.”

I followed her into a room where a prison officer sat alone in a small office with filing cabinets, a computer and a phone.

“First timer,” the nurse said, and closed the door, leaving me in the office.

The prison officer looked me up and down. “Name?”

“Ryan Anderson.”

He lifted the phone and had a brief conversation, which I couldn’t hear clearly.

A young, dark-haired female prison officer arrived in the office. “Ryan Anderson?”

“Yes,” I said, and wondered why a pretty young woman would want to do this job.

“I’m Officer Harris. Come with me.” She had a bunch of keys on a long silver chain. She led the way to a corridor, unlocking and locking gates as we continued. When we went into what looked like a large storeroom with racks of shelving, she stood back and left me to be assessed by the man behind the counter. He was tall and well-built, wearing a prison officer’s uniform. After a moment, he turned, went to some shelves, and returned with blankets, sheets, pillows, and pillow slips. He gave me another quick once over and fetched a grey sweatshirt and matching jogging bottoms. The tracksuit had HMP Waverley printed on both.

He looked at my training shoes. “Turn around and let me see the heels.”

I turned and briefly lifted my feet, one at a time.

“He’s good,” the man said, and pushed the bedding, clothing and a plastic mug towards me.

Now carrying my issued bundle with my big transparent bag on top, I followed Officer Harris through a series of locked gates, each time, she rapidly dealt with the unlocking and locking. After a few minutes, she paused as we entered a long, wide room with metal doors along its length on both sides. In the middle of the area were two pool tables, a table tennis table, three other square formica tables with chairs around them, and a television mounted high on the wall.

There were no people around apart from us, and I paused to take in my surroundings silently.

Officer Harris said, “It’s not usually this quiet, but the governor has imposed a lockdown because contraband was found in a cell earlier today.” She went to a cell door, unlocked it and ushered me inside, where a man wearing a T-shirt and grey jogging pants was lying on the bottom bunk.

He stood tall and muscular, stretching. “What have we got here, Officer Harris?”

“A new playmate for you, Mitchell. It’s his first time, so I’d like you to show him the ropes.”

“Anything for you, Patricia.”

“Behave yourself.” She grinned. “Okay, Anderson, get settled as quickly as you can, and the governor will probably interview you tomorrow because there’s a lot happening today.” She paused. “I’ll have to take that plastic bag, so empty your belongings onto your bunk.”

My cellmate stood with his back to the narrow back wall under the barred window, leaning on the top bunk with his right arm as he watched my introduction to life in a cell.

I upturned the big plastic bag onto the top bunk alongside my folded bedding. As the items tumbled onto the mattress at eye level, I hoped that neither the female officer nor my cellmate would see the feminine items. When the bag was empty, I quickly folded it and handed it over.

She accepted the bag and paused in the doorway. “As I said, Mitchell will show you how things work in here, and you’d be well-advised to do as he suggests.” She stepped outside.

The sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut and then locking was frightening. I inhaled deeply and slowly turned to appraise my new living quarters, which I thought measured about three metres wide by four metres long.

Along the left wall, from the door, were sets of shelving, some of which held neatly folded clothing. Footwear was placed on the floor underneath. The double bunk took up the remainder of the left wall.

High on the narrow end wall, opposite the cell door, was the barred window, which, like the door, was a reminder of where I’d ended up. Halfway down the wall, behind my cellmate, I could see a small stainless steel wash basin.

Where the narrow wall and the right-hand wall joined, there was the ominous sight of a stainless steel toilet bowl in the corner, with neither a seat nor a cover. The toilet held my attention for a moment before I turned to look properly at the right-hand wall.

There was a desk with a chair tucked underneath, and above it was a large cork noticeboard with a few photographs, girly pin-ups, and handwritten notes. To the right of the desk was a small countertop on which were a kettle and a plastic mug, like the one I’d had issued. On a shelf above were a transistor radio and canisters labelled Tea, Coffee, Sugar, and Biscuits. 

I turned back to look at the man I’d be sharing with, and he stepped forward, which increased my fear to a level I didn’t know existed.

“Mitch,” he said, extending his right hand.

“Ryan,” I said, placing my slender right hand in his massive paw, and feeling insignificant.

“One of the first things you have to learn to accept is the total lack of privacy.” He grinned. “When you put your clothes on the shelves, remember, we’ll occasionally have other inmates paying a visit, so don’t leave anything of value lying around.”

“Thank you … I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll sort us both a mug of tea while you’re arranging your clothes and making your bed.”

I grabbed the clothing, folded it quickly, and placed it on a shelf.

Without turning, Mitch said, “I’d try to conceal the lace items or anything with frills.”

“My girlfriend packed my—”

He laughed briefly. “I’m sure she did, Ryan,” he said, and turned to see me trying to hide the black nightie among T-shirts. “There isn’t a man in here who’ll give a shit about who packed your bag if they see those things.” He winked. “They can be our secret … for a price.”

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